


pack your bags, it's time to flee (and i'm taking you with me)

by orphan_account



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, that's about it for this one really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 17:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4313889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke held his hand in hers, watching the rowboat coming ashore as the golden sun embraced skin that had seen very little light of day in the past months.</p><p>They'd leave the lighthouse the way they arrived. In a boat.</p><p>"Very poetic, Clarke."</p><p>"Shut your mouth, Murphy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	pack your bags, it's time to flee (and i'm taking you with me)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Welcome to hell. If you've just come across this beautiful disaster of a series that should have been a chapter fic but alas I am incompetent, I'll have to ask you to take a few steps back and start from the beginning of the installments (that's installment #1). You might actually enjoy it if you do! Thank you so much, hope you like!  
> ~~~~~~~  
> So you're caught up? You've been waiting patiently for this short chapter much longer than you should have had to? My sincerest apologies for the wait. This one's MOSTLY happy, though, so enjoy, and at the end, tell me if I've made it up to you.
> 
> And as always, I love you. Thank you so much for reading.

Clarke shuffled down the slick hallway and updated Murphy on their "escorts'" situation in the Dead Zone. “They’ve just navigated the minefield without casualties, thanks to Raven’s flawless repair of the two metal detectors in Mt. Weather storage, so-”

“That girl is some kind of superhero. Or a wizard, or something. We’d all be dead without her.”

“Good thing you’re a lousy shot.”

Murphy chucked his heavy boots at the bedroom door, and Clarke ducked just in time, crouching behind the door frame. “You know it’s true!”

“Watch it.”

Clarke grinned and crept over to the closet, taking her pick of a new outfit to wear back to camp with the radio tucked under her arm.

“Do you really need all of that?”

Murphy sent her a look of hurt, wrapping his arms protectively around his trash bag filled to the brim with sweatpants and over-sized t-shirts.

“They’re comfy.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, glancing over at her own bag, which was stuffed with food and medical supplies.

“Got your drinks?” She asked, ticking off a mental checklist as they packed.

Murphy winked and jostled his bag, and Clarke heard the distinctive ‘CLINK’ of two bottles making contact.

Clarke sighed with exasperation. He was actually taking liquor with him. “You know Monty’s back, right? We’ve got all the alcohol we need back at camp.”

“That stuff shouldn’t even be called alcohol.”

“Come in, Clarke.” The radio called, and Clarke dropped a pair of pants to grip the walkie. “What’s up?”

“The three Tri-Kru metalworkers and the two warriors who volunteered for the Commander to make and bring the steel rowboat are turning back now, but one is coming along with weapons in case the "rescue party" comes across the sea snake you were talking about.”

“Okay. Thanks for the updates, Bellamy.”

“No problem.”

Clarke sighed as he left again, as quickly as he had arrived.

“You mean I’m gonna have to get on a boat with a Grounder?”

“Kiss your ass goodbye, John Murphy." She crowed sarcastically. "You know it’s been months, they’re over the whole village thing. I’m sure they know you were trying to help. That guy who messed with you before you left was just trying to pick fights. You two could even be friends, already have a good bit in common.” Clarke rolled her eyes at his melodramatics, ending her monologue just before taking note of the genuine annoyance on his face. “They won’t lay a finger on you, and if they do, we’re swimming back. Got it?”

He grimaced and nodded, and then he scratched behind his ear, turning to face Clarke. “I have to get over that, don’t I? We’re gonna have to live with those bastards.”

“You don’t have to get over anything. It’s okay to be scared.”

“Who says I’m scared?”

Clarke barked out a laugh and Murphy huffed, bare feet carrying him remarkably loudly out of the room.

“Didn’t you have a crush on a Grounder?” She called down the hall, and after a beat another voice echoed back, “She’s got a cool hand, okay?!”

"You mean she's smokin' hot and you wanna canoodle with her?"

"Dammit Clarke!"

Clarke smiled to herself, kneeling down to fold up a pair of red silk pajama pants, which were hideous, but comfortable, and stuffed them into her well-stocked trashbag. She noticed her hands were shaking, and everytime the grandfather clock in the hall ticked, the three Ark guards and the Grounder in a rowboat were a few feet closer. Every tick was one less tick spent in peace with a good friend in a quiet bunker with all of the food and showers and drinks and movies and music she’d ever need. One more tick, one more disappointed face in the crowd of people she’d abandoned.

Murphy came back from the other room and began to ask if he would look stupid bringing back his favorite blanket, but then crouched down in front of Clarke, between her and the wardrobe, searching her eyes.

“Look at me.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and he grasped her hands, squeezing them tightly.

“It’s okay to be scared.”

“Who says I’m scared?”

He cocked his head with a small smile. “I smell fear.” He whispered, and Clarke began to relax, almost laughed, but it turned to tears as she launched herself into him, into his warm embrace. “I’m so scared, Murphy.”

His hand rubbed her back, fingers trailing over the slight dips and hills of her backbone through the thin fabric of a worn blue t-shirt. She allowed her thoughts to travel elsewhere for a moment as he comforted her, thinking about how lucky she was in this moment. That the so-called roughest, toughest, meanest guy of the original delinquents melted in her arms. Whenever she felt weak, powerless, afraid, she’d know the criminal who lived for only himself and would do whatever it took to stay alive, would walk into a storm of arrows for her. That John Murphy, who the others saw as the perfect picture of a monster among men, had stood with her on an overlook high above the trees in the pouring rain, wet hair sticking to pale skin and soaked clothes clinging to their tormented bodies, faces turned fearlessly to the dark sky, as they screamed their mouths dry and lungs empty at the world together.

Maybe Lexa had her army, but Clarke had something no one else on Earth had.

She had John Murphy.

-

“Clarke, really?”

“Just because everyone else there is okay with smelling like the Ark during a sewage system malfunction doesn’t mean I have to be.” She hissed, walking out of the bathroom and dumping a new box of something call Old Spice into her trashbag.

Murphy chuckled to himself, half-heartedly tying his boots and smoothing out his yellow shirt.

“You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb, sunshine.”

He looked down and grumbled. “Do I have time to change?”

“If you run. They’ll be at the beach any minute now.”

The sound of radio static filled the air suddenly. “Come in, Clarke. They’ll be at the beach any minute now.”

Murphy’s eyes widened as he scrambled to the bedroom, tripping over the garbage that littered the halls. Neither of them really bothered to clean up recently, so Mr. Nuclear had a pleasant surprise in store if he rose from the dead any time soon. After a few seconds of drawer slamming and scrabbling around he shouted into the hall a panicked _“Where are all of the dull things?!”_

Clarke grinned widely at the muffled voice ringing through the bunker.“I’m sure you’d look just fine in one of his silky robes, Jonathan!”

_“I’ll kill you!”_

She smiled again, dropping her bag to the floor, shoving her tremoring hands into her pockets and tapping her feet anxiously at the top of the steps.

Moments later he was clomping up the stairs in his old boots and pants, now with only minimal blood stains, and a black shirt with a small picture of two red bulls in front of a yellow circle where a breast pocket would be.

“Good enough. Ready to go?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They turned to look at the bunker they were leaving behind, and then each other’s flushed faces.

“You’ve got me.” She whispered, and he stood a little straighter than before.

“And you’ve got me.”

Their hands slipped together, fingers intertwined and palms melting together in a white-knuckle grip, as they tossed their small bags over their shoulders and turned to face the door. Murphy, with a shaking sigh, pushed it open with his foot and allowed the sunlight to gloss over their skin. It was just then that Clarke realized how almost  _sickly_  pale they’d gotten, as if they’d been on the Ark this whole time.

She felt him tense as he spotted the three Ark guards and the single warrior, a dark man with an I’d-rather-be-anywhere-else-right-now look on his face, a lightweight spear and a bow quiver strapped to his back, and a bow in his tattooed hands. The guards waved from the boat, a familiar looking one struggling to pull it farther in to shore.

Clarke gave Murphy’s hand a firm squeeze and he returned it, as they trudged through the sand and to the boat that looked much safer than either of their little wooden rowboats had.

“Wait, isn’t that the guy Bellamy replaced me with?”

“What?”

“Bellamy’s new little servant, what’s his name, Michael, or something?”

“Oh my God, Miller?” Clarke called, and the boy lifted a lazy hand in greeting, slouched over in the back of the boat.

Clarke picked up the pace, much to Murphy’s displeasure judging by his grunting and dragging heels, and David Miller came into view as well. The third guard was someone neither of them recognized.

“What are you doing here, Miller?”

“Bellamy wanted to send someone you knew, and then Dad here had to come along, naturally.” He explained in that stoic way of his. Clarke smiled at him as he explained they only allowed him to come along now that he was a cadet and it would be good training, apparently, as Murphy looked between the two and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

They climbed clumsily into the boat and found a seat together near the back, furthest from the lone Grounder at Murphy’s quiet requests and persistent tugging.

“What was your deal with Miller?” Clarke whispered to him as Murphy, the warrior, and David all took an oar and began rowing.

Murphy sighed, closing his eyes tight and grimacing. “Jealous.” He admitted, and Clarke’s hard gaze softened and dropped to stare at her hands in her lap.

Of finally meeting the one Bellamy chose as his new second and  _didn’t_ hang or meeting a delinquent who happened to have a presently breathing father, she wasn’t sure. Maybe both.

“Have any trouble on your trip? Thank you for coming, by the way.” Clarke asked politely, attempting to hide the earthquake inside of her which was threatening to spill into her voice.

David nodded, and then shrugged, tightening his grip on the oar. “We ran into one of your sea snakes, but Keilan here stuck a spear into it and it took off.” He motioned vaguely at the Grounder, who sat up straighter as he rowed.

“Is it dead?”

“Not sure. I hope so.”

“Well, either way, thank you Keilan.”

The Grounder’s head twitched as if he were going to nod, but he remained still and continued rowing instead. Murphy immediately rolled his eyes and huffed, loudly enough to catch the attention of the unnamed guard and Miller, who both just looked away within seconds.

Clarke jabbed an elbow into his side and he pushed her away with his shoulder, staring straight ahead.

“So, Murphy, I’ve been told. Nice to meet you.” David said, not making eye contact, and Murphy seemed to be wracking his brain for a response.

“Uh- yeah. Nice to meet you.” He parroted, and Clarke stifled a laugh.

“What?” He whispered harshly, and she just shook her head in response.

“What a diplomat.” She said in a hushed voice that she thought was too quiet for the others to hear, but she noticed Miller’s face relax and the tiniest of grins threaten to betray his lips, presumably at the sound of their banter.

“Look, see, he heard that. You’re so embarrassing.”

“Me? Embarrassing? What about you over here, like you’ve never spoken to a human before! Uh… uhh….” She mocked, and he furrowed his brows.

“I’m sorry, the nicest greeting I’ve gotten before that was about seventeen years ago, so excuse me.”

Clarke tilted her head in confusion. "What was it?"

“It’s a boy!” He whisper-shouted, freeing a hand to lift up a nonexistent baby, and as much as Clarke fought it, the laugh overtook her and she threw her head back in a fit of giggles.

“It wasn’t that funny.” He hissed as everyone in the boat turned to look at them, the Grounder’s face twisting up in disgust. She knew this was a serious matter they were traveling back to handle, but that hadn’t really settled in her just yet. She’d have some fun while she still could. Soon she’d have the weight of the world crushing her lungs until she couldn’t possibly laugh, so, you know, she’d take what she could get right now, whether it was all that funny or not.

Smell the flowers now, hurry up and save the world later.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's me again. I hope you liked it, very sorry for the wait and the length, I've been juggling this series with another project, which explains the quality, I suppose. Or am I just bad? Maybe that's it. 
> 
> Either way, let me know what you thought, correct me if needed (always appreciated, don't hold back), and I sincerely hope you did enjoy. <3 
> 
> Thank you so much for sticking with me this long. We're getting to the good stuff, I swear!


End file.
